Last night, I revisited Thor in my private film-viewing chambers (i.e. my cluttered bedroom). I was in my comfies, of course, with a bottle of Old Bardstown on my adjacent nightstand. The windows were open, the house was all mine, and the dog was working diligently on devouring a rawhide bone at the foot of my bed. It was glorious.
I have seen this film once before, when it was still in the theaters last spring/summer, but I must admit that I didn’t remember much of it due to the fact that I had been drinking all day prior to its viewing. Naturally, excessive Sunday Funday activities were the cause of this inebriation.
We’d been getting after it pretty well all day when I had a brilliant idea: “Hey, gang, maybe we should go and see a movie or something?”
“That’s what she said,” piped in Nelly.
“That’s what he said,” corrected Smash.
“Maybe Thor?” I lobbed, in an attempt to focus on the task at hand.
“Sure,” agreed everyone.
After a minute, I realized, “Wait, who’s going to drive us?”
It quickly became abundantly clear that no one was of the mind to operate an automobile.
We decided to call a cab.
“To take us all the way out to the movie theater?” said I. “That’ll be expensive.”
“So would a DUI,” countered Nelly.
“Good talk,” I readily conceded.
We snagged a couple of bottles of wine and a hip flask of Jameson’s, called for a cab, and off we went. The wine was smuggled into Nelly and Smash’s respective purses. Z-Squared volunteered to crotch the whiskey. I went unencumbered.
And there we were, sitting in the movie theater, the four of us in a disheveled row, passing horns of wine and whiskey, all the while wearing 3D glasses and stupid grins on our faces. I’m sure we were ballistically obnoxious to those unfortunate souls surrounding us.
While I do not really remember a whole lot of specifics, I do remember liking the movie and being super impressed that Shakespeare guru Kenneth Branagh was able to pull off such a visually-incredible superhero flick. I mean, the guy can do some damage on some iambic pentameter, but I had no idea he had such balls.
Bravo, Mr. Branagh. Bravo, indeed.
Z-Squared and Nelly both passed out in the middle of the feature, snoring audibly in defiance of the crushing volume of the theater’s top-notch surround sound speakers. Smash and I giggled and continued passing the horn.
When the movie had concluded and Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms had been vanquished of the evil Frost Giants, the four of us made our way over to a nearby Walgreens so that Z-Squared could pick up a new pack of smokes. It was here we called a cab to usher us homewards. Well, I went homewards because I did not have the benefit of a nap in the middle of the movie; the rest of the crew rallied and carried forth to Paul’s Club in pursuit of further beverage.
Upon my second viewing of Thor, I became immediately upset with myself that I had been such a puddle during my initial viewing because the movie was pretty damn awesome, and my 32-inch flatscreen was not doing it the justice it deserved. Chris Hemsworth was more than just a meathead with the worst hair I’ve ever seen in cinema, and the script actually made sense to a sober viewer! Natalie Portman, of course, can do no wrong (that goes without saying), and I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush on Kat Dennings. Which is not surprising in the least: she looks like she could be a barista.
I have a thing for baristas. I can’t help it. It’s a weakness, and I am completely comfortable in admitting it.
The photo of Thor is curtesy of nerdtrek.com, the pic of Kat is from her Wikipedia page.